Somewhere in the Middle

So today is an emotional day for me for a variety of reasons. Part of my heart - yes. . .I have one. . .Is with Captain Phil Harris because he reminds me a lot of my old man. So watching Deadliest Catch was particularly difficult for me.

But there's more. . .

Apparently my sisters aren't seeing eye to eye. I wasn't aware of their conflict until this evening.

Sisters fight. A lot. Sometimes for sport.

But when I have to play dummy in the middle for real this time to text messages like "Her life isn't more important than mine."

I need to check out.

I can't get in the middle of that stuff.

For the better part of my life I've been silently pleading with Mom, Dad, Sister, Brother to STOP!!!

Just STOP damnit.

Stop yelling.

Stop resenting.

Stop thinking you are "right"

Stop thinking about yourself.

Stop thinking about how your are a victim.

Stop making me feel as if I should save, fix, do, help, offer. . .It positively crushes me. . .

Start loving, giving, owning, offering. . . listening. . .

Silent pleas fall on death ears. And sometimes screams fall on death ears (in the case of my Parents.)

Either way, the message is the same: Life is precious and time is fleeting. You have the power to decide what is important. You have the power to figure out how you will spend your time. You have the power to build bridges. You have the power to be an example, an inspiration, a hero.

So get humble. Give love. Try a little empathy.

Try actually picking up the phone and hearing a voice on the other side. Try actually writing a note. Try. . .

TRY.

It feels as if no one in this world takes any pride or heart in trying any more.

I'm officially old. And if I'm ever fortunate to parent children, I worry about what they will learn about how I interact with my family and how they treat me. I worry that they will only be able to text message their aunts. I worry that they have an Uncle in Texas that seldom shows - but that they would adore. I worry about what a child would think. I worry.

And every so often. . .in a quiet, wicked-selfish immature voice, I wonder if anyone ever worries about me?